


until the stars die

by PikaCheeka



Series: until the stars die [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, fast burn romance, takes place in canon verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: Ignis Scientia makes a thousand mistakes.Ardyn Izunia only needs to make one.-Two thousand years ago, there was a word for such comradery as what Ignis feels towards his king, when the cosmos was vicious and mad, when war turned the world because it was all anyone ever knew. There’s something ancient about Ignis, something old and cunning in his blood, that drew Ardyn to him just as much as his piercing eyes and his long legs did. He runs a few fingers down the younger man’s back, feeling each vertebra beneath his shirt and wondering at what holds them together, what heart beats beneath that rib cage and what ancient being settles in his viscera.





	until the stars die

**Author's Note:**

> My first FFXV fic! This started as a very, very different kind of story, and I surprised myself with what it turned into. Ardyn is catastrophically fun to write and the fic ended up taking its own path. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 I will definitely be writing more for this fandom!

He'd only planned on drawing one of them into his clutches in any way possible, but he had expected it to be Noctis, and he certainly hadn’t expected it to be a seduction. He was unprepared for Ignis Scientia. The retainer, the strategist, the advisor, the mage, though he didn't seem to realize his full potential for magic just yet. He was unprepared for how pretty he was, for how standoffish and buttoned up he was, for how unfailingly loyal. Ardyn had known right away that he would be the one, with his air of haughty desperation and loneliness. 

He'd found him by the restaurant in the town proper, only the evening after running into him on the quay, chatting with the locals about some obscure plant, and Ardyn had been unable to resist approaching him almost immediately. Ignis leaning his long, thin body over the counter, his ass out for all to see. Ignis had startled when he'd seen him, leaned away and narrowed his eyes in poorly-concealed suspicion. The two beauty marks on his cheek had caught Ardyn’s eye then.

“Ah, you again! What a surprise. Shall we take a walk? I have no plans for this evening and we are both strangers in this little town.” Calling it a town is generous. A handful of establishments and a few shacks, nothing like the glory of the cities of old.

Ignis only continues to stare at him with that puzzled, disgusted look, but there is something _more_ now. Curiosity. Because Ignis wants to know who he is, probably wants to offer useful information to Noctis – Ardyn is certain it’s almost always about the prince – but maybe, just maybe, he wants attention for himself. Who can possibly pay attention to him when he’s standing between the future king and a mountain of a man who oozes sexual confidence?

Ardyn pushes forward; he doesn’t mince words, a rarity in itself. He purrs, “And, I must admit, _you intrigue me_.”

The Scientia responds exactly as suspected. So weak. “I’m sorry to decline, but I imagine the rest are waiting on me.”

Camping, of course, because Ardyn had overheard Noctis lamenting about the cost of the resort inn earlier that evening. He’d also seen him snatch up a stray cat and stuff it down his shirt; it was likely tearing apart the tent right now and the reason why Ignis had decided to escape. He seemed the sort who didn’t take well to the mess animals could cause.

“Are you not allowed to go off on your own for a bit?”

“A man of no consequence, are you?”

“Just so,” and he steps back. “Are you going to grace me with your presence or shall I take my leave?”

-

It’s so easy after that, because not only is Ignis lonely and too unfailingly polite to tell him off, but he’s so very _interested_ in everything. Pausing to read every flyer, glance in every window, ask bizarre and oddly specific questions at every shop. Ardyn has to force nothing, has no need to drag words from him or cast his net wide to find anything intriguing enough for Ignis to stay beside him. Ignis has a lust for knowledge, for information, and he can’t let himself leave without learning more of Ardyn.

It begins with a purposeful brush of his hand. An accidental brush was unacceptable. Too _sleazy_. It had to be purposeful, and therefore innocent. Stepping aside to let the younger man walk through the door first and fingertips on the small of his back as if to gently usher him in. Harmless. And yet, and yet, it makes Ignis twitch, glance at him for the briefest of moments. Ardyn knows then that he has him, and he resists the urge to laugh. It is only easier from there, to brush against him once or twice more, catch his arm to show him something at one point as if it were the most natural thing, as if he were only raised in a family where that sort of contact was acceptable. Though, he supposes, social mores have changed quite a bit over the centuries.

-

Ignis stops as they skirt through an alley as a shortcut to the next shop, lets Ardyn get a few steps ahead of him before he sighs. "You don't have to be so discreet."

"Hm?" He turns. Ignis has an unreadable expression on his face and for the first time that night, Ardyn is uncertain.

"I don't think 'you intrigue me' is the way you begin most of your acquaintances, is it?"

Nervous. He's _nervous_. Ardyn only stares, feeding off of the younger man’s angst.

"Or did I...?"

_Misjudge_. Not just nervousness but horror at the possibility that he, Ignis Scientia the strategist, misjudged. The vulnerability is intoxicating and Ardyn can't resist any longer. Because with every word he offers, he draws that vulnerability further into his clutches. "I'm not usually so forward. Especially with men it can be..."

"Difficult,” Ignis finishes.

"Yes," he says softly. Amazing how such an intelligent man can fail to pick up on the falseness. "I enjoyed your company nonetheless but I would like...to get to know you better." He whispers the last few words, and he waits in silence until Ignis nods, an almost imperceptible tilt of his chin.

He's touching him then, closing the gap between them with a single stride, fingers brushing the hair on the side of his face before resting against his skin. He kisses him gently, slowly, ghosting over his lips and letting him decide what he wants. Control is easy to surrender when one knows they have an eternity to regain it.

Ignis moves next, curls fingers in the front of the older man's coat and slowly takes a step back, and another, until his back is to the wall of the alley and Ardyn is against him, over him, pressing into him with another urgent tug on his coat. The kiss deepens as Ignis opens his mouth and groans. A sound from low within him, and Ardyn all but purrs in satisfaction as he lays the full weight of his body on him. Ignis feels good, lithe and trim, and he can only imagine how he might be naked. Will be. He's fit, tight and trim with long legs and an ass that makes the older man dizzy with need. The leather pants he so favors don't help. He's touching him almost without thinking, sliding a hand down his torso and over his hip, then slowly around to his crotch. He's hard, far too hard for only a kiss. _Repressed and desperate. He probably can't even find the privacy to jerk off most days._ It doesn't take much pressure. Ignis lets out a soft gasp that goes straight to Ardyn's groin and presses his face to his shoulder, but the fingers digging into the back of his neck tighten and his hips buck forward in response.

"Have you done this before?" He hasn't, or he wouldn't be so easily lured in. 

"Mm," he looks away, eyes downcast, and pushes his glasses up further on his nose. Alarmingly attractive. "Not exactly. I have a few extra precautions on my phone to prevent anyone else from knowing what I read and watch."

Ardyn laughs softly. So naïve. He wonders absently if tonight will be a delight or a drudgery because of that. "It must be difficult, on the road all the time with three other men, and such men they are. None of them know?"

"They don't need to."

"No, they don't. Do you want to go somewhere?" He whispers the next words in his ear. A mere formality, because he won't be able to resist him now that he's heard that gasp. He'll have him whether he wants it or not, seduction and the prince be damned. Maybe he'll take him to a hotel anyway. Drug him. Tie him up. Fuck him bloody and senseless. That moment when hope curls up and dies in one’s eyes is such a delight to witness. He wonders if he'll fight, or if he will maintain composure and just accept it.

But Ignis can't know what's running through his mind, and he doesn't wait more than a heartbeat before saying, "Yes."

-

The sex isn't bad; it's unexpectedly good. Because Ignis takes it seriously, diligently, as if it's another duty that he must excel at. The perfect servant in every way. His body is sensitive, burning with the desire of a decade, and he moans and whimpers at the slightest provocation. He'd fucked him in a hotel. Played him like a fiddle and lured him in with promises of a good first time. A luxurious hotel. A slow coupling. An offer of education on the finer details. It had been frustrating, not being able to fuck him into next week until he begged for it to end, but it had ultimately been worth it. Because he knows now that he can take him whenever he wants. Rape is always more fun when there is a precedent to betray, and Ignis will be such a delight to betray.

No, the sex isn't bad at all, and Ardyn does not feel in the least slighted for having to work a little for it. But he thinks about a different sort of sex when they are together. He thinks about keeping him, about dragging the insecurities out of him. He thinks about revealing his true identity mid-fuck, of showing him how unworthy he is to protect his beloved prince, of breaking him down in every way and slowly building him up again. He's the retainer that Ardyn never had, the right-hand man deprived of him just as the throne was deprived of him. Faithful and adoring, clever and resourceful and so very, very loyal. Someone who exists solely to treat him as the king he should so rightfully have been. _I want him for myself._ It's a pity that Noctis hasn't taken more advantage of him. The thought of what he's lost makes him seethe, hard with rage and sudden hatred towards the man beneath him.

Ignis makes a startled sound when he bites him, flinches and groans when he thrusts in too hard. A low whine when Ardyn squeezes the base of his dick when he's so close to climax. But he doesn't know any better, and he's so desperate and overwhelmed that he can't think anyway. It's impressive, the mistakes the strategist makes when he's distracted with emotion. He makes a charming yelp when he orgasms, and then he lies still, trembling and making a soft sound that Ardyn can't quite place while the older man thrusts himself to completion inside of him.

When it's over and they both lie there, gasping for air, Ignis presses up against his side and makes that _sound_ again; Ardyn silently prays it isn’t affection, is only satisfaction, because as much as he wants to bring Ignis to his knees so to better control the wayward prince, he doesn’t want him to be needy in _that_ way. Too much effort.

He finally groans and sits up. It was a bad idea to come in him, because now he can't send him off so easily. "Want to take a shower?"

Ignis ignores the question and grabs him, his grasp unexpectedly firm after such an ordeal. "Not yet. Again."

"So soon? No need to over-exert yourself." The tone is just condescending enough to make Ignis narrow his eyes, so he quickly adds, "It's been a long time since I was 22." Ignis hadn't asked his age, probably hadn't wanted to know, because the body Ardyn has lived in for nearly 2000 years is that of a 47-year-old.

"I don't want to miss the chance," he whispers, eyes suddenly downcast again, and Ardyn finds himself softening. It has been a long time, a very long time, since he was this young, this uncertain. He still despises him, wants to crush him, control him in every way, but not yet. There's no point in doing it yet.

He pries the fingers off his arm and gently pulls Ignis in for a kiss before whispering a phone number in his ear.

  *  ✷  .  ✦ 　 　 ✵  　   .  ˚  　 ⊹ 　　 ✵   ✺ 　 ✷   　　 　 ⊹  ✹  *  ˚ 　　　　 　 ✫



He is slow to respond to the text, letting it linger for two days before making his second mistake and abruptly responding with an entire paragraph, one so lurid that Ardyn barks out a laugh in the midst of a council meeting. Nobody would dare say anything if the chancellor was playing with his phone while High Commander Ravus spoke, though the Fleuret does shoot him a dirty look. _Poor little Ignis_. If only he knew where Ardyn was at that very moment. The thought is delightful as the older man slips the phone back into his pocket, folds his hands at the table, grins coldly at the emperor, and proceeds with the discussion of how to destroy everything left that Ignis holds dear.

Ignis Scientia, adviser to the _king_ , wrapped around his finger just as much as he was around his cock. And it had been so easy.

  *  ✷  .  ✦ 　 　 ✵  　   .  ˚  　 ⊹ 　　 ✵   ✺ 　 ✷   　　 　 ⊹  ✹  *  ˚ 　　　　 　 ✫



Ignis makes his next mistake less than a week after that first text. A week, because Insomnia had fallen and Ignis had fallen silent for a few days after a curt, _I hope you were not in the city_. Of course not. Ardyn was _never_ where massacres erupted. He’d assured him that he was alive and well, so very well, and the younger man had said he’d be in touch later.

When Ardyn meets him again, the younger man is not wearing his Crownsguard outfit any longer, but a pinstriped shirt and suspenders. The bag strapped around his thigh is unnecessarily distracting, drawing attention to how tight his pants are, but the shirt might be worse. Not only is the collar undone, but the top button is. An act of sheer _sprezzatura_ , because there is no chance that Ignis could possibly be trying to seduce him. He’s too unaware of his own power, of how seductive he is. He’d seemed genuinely taken aback that Ardyn had found him attractive that first night.

He’s talking, suggesting a schedule for the afternoon as if there were twelve people who needed to be organized. Ardyn lets him go on though; he needs that sense of control, of order, especially after what has just happened, and putting him on edge so soon would serve no purpose.

He stares at his throat when he speaks, watches his laryngeal prominence and thinks of crushing it. He thinks of ripping his throat open, peeling the skin back to watch the pulse of the last moments of his life. He would do it in front of Noctis, of course, perhaps through one of Zegnautus Keep’s fortified glass walls. It’s a moment before he realizes Ignis has asked him something. He hadn’t heard, but he can guess, judging by Ignis momentarily touching his neck. _What are you staring at?_

Ardyn tugs at his collar gently, runs a finger over the exposed clavicle – oh the irony of that little skull necklace – and only smiles in response.

-

He's a quick study, almost too quick. He learns fast and does everything that he is told, one step above and beyond. He learns with the same enthusiasm and speed that he exhibits in bed. But despite his ability to master everything on the first or third try, Ardyn still tires of teaching him how to plant spells in his daggers, no matter how often Ignis lets him place his hands over his, stand behind him with his fingers tapping his shoulders. Because Ignis is remarkably agile and flexible, fast and jumpy. _A nightmare to fight_ , Ardyn reflects absently, but he’s too distracted by his ass to think on it too deeply. It’s difficult now, caring about how dangerous people can be when he is as relentlessly immortal as the stars. _More so, because the sun will die, and I shall live forever._

“Noct does all the elemency for our group but he doesn’t get very creative…”

“You don’t pressure him enough. Don’t be so soft on him; it’s your job to train him in regality, is it not? How is he going to be king if he plays vid—”

He elbows Ardyn in the gut before changing the subject. “We don't usually have the money for the ingredients for the high-class spells like these.”

“—eo games all the time. Not even when you hunt for them? Surely you can collect trophies,” he murmurs in his ear, running a hand down his forearm, his thumb down the inside of his wrist and up beneath his glove. His pulse is so fast that his skin is nearly vibrating, and Ardyn can't resist jostling him a little from behind.

Ignis' breath hitches but he finds the air to respond, “We usually have to sell everything.”

Money. The money irritates him. How could the now- _retired_ King of Lucis not properly supply his son with cash? Probably some nonsense about responsibility, or possibly concerns over Noctis managing to misplace or waste whatever was given to him. Ardyn had already offered to give Ignis all the money he needed, all the money Noctis needed to get to Altissia in a timely manner, because at this rate he might miss the ceremony and all this careful planning would be for naught, but he'd continually refused. He accepts gifts when offered though, expensive hotel stays, spells, ingredients; the only thing he'd balked at was a new pair of daggers. That was perhaps too permanent.

Ignis doesn’t notice the lack of response, and his spine suddenly tightens against Ardyn’s chest as he infuses the blades with a firey stopcast. The first time he’d done it, he’d made a soft chirrup of excitement, but by now he’s already accepted his capability with the confidence one can only gain from being given a duty at the tender age of six. The only self-doubt Ignis ever had time for was with his sexuality, and even that was short-lived.

And as Ardyn watches, he thinks absently of another spell, another use for those daggers. He wonders how many times he can stab someone with healcast before they die. He thinks of shoving one of those daggers into Ignis, fucking him with it and healing him even as he slices him to pieces. That would make him scream. It's been growing on Ardyn's nerves, because Ignis will not truly scream. The noises he makes are fantastic, tantalizing and intoxicating, but they aren't enough. But he doesn't dare make him howl in pain just yet, not when he's so entrapped as it is. He can drop the facade only later, only when Noctis is in Altissia.

He’s breathing heavily now, hair sweat-soaked and in his face, sleeves rolled up and pants damp behind the knees. The oncoming darkness has not deterred the brutality of the Luciian sun, much to Ardyn’s dismay. He’d dropped the coat and long ago, but he still wore too many layers. It was tiring, to keep the seep of the Starscourge disguised, to hide the blackness clawing its way through every vein in his body, trap the faint glow of his skin and contain the miasma that emanated from him. And not to mention irritating, only exacerbating his fury at the humans who had betrayed him. No, he’d rather save that energy and rage for when he fucked Ignis later, as he surely would. The one downside of crawling between those thighs. He can live with it.

Ignis leans forward then, juts his chin out and narrows his eyes as he smirks. “Shall we go somewhere?”

So impatient, voracious. It’s so unexpected for him, but the request goes straight to Ardyn’s groin. “Aren’t you the eager one? You were so concerned about anyone noticing you were away for so long last time.”

“I told everyone I was going out to train, which isn’t untrue,” he taps his shoulder with one of the daggers, other hand on his cocked hip. He’d adopted an awareness of his sexual attraction quickly. “Vaguely mentioned a man I’d met at the Meldacio Hunter’s HQ. Only Gladio was interested.”

“Unsurprising, and what did you tell him?”

“That it would be boring. Spells and daggers, which he doesn’t care for as I’m sure you can imagine.” He flicks his fingers open and the knives dematerialize.

“I suppose it’s good you have an excuse for being so…disheveled.”

Ignis grins and closes the gap between them.

  *  ✷  .  ✦ 　 　 ✵  　   .  ˚  　 ⊹ 　　 ✵   ✺ 　 ✷   　　 　 ⊹  ✹  *  ˚ 　　　　 　 ✫



They meet often after that, nearly every day for the next week, and occasionally in the weeks following, whenever Ignis can get a spare moment. If he wonders why Ardyn never seems to be busy, why he always seems to be lingering in the general vicinity of the Regalia, he never asks. Since the epidemic the towns are few and far between, and the roads spanning the country are limited. And since the fall of Insomnia, the listlessness of the survivors has settled like a miasma over the world. If one were traveling, working as a demon hunter as Ardyn had once – only once – vaguely mentioned, this sort of inconsequential crossing of paths would only be expected, and of course his flamboyance would stand out. Ardyn had also vaguely mentioned merely being a traveler, a bard collecting tales of demon hunters even. 

They meet often and they talk often. Once or twice, they don’t even have sex, because Ignis has a surprising amount to say. Nothing is ever particularly useful, but his loneliness is apparent in every word that spills forth from him. Shy and subtle, he must rarely have heart-to-heart talks with the other boys, his social skills likely stilted due to his lack of a childhood. Too used to being there for everyone else that he doesn’t know how to lean on another. Ardyn can _almost_ understand. Almost, if only Ignis’ tragic past didn’t delight him. After two thousand years, the bitterness of the betrayal, the _assumption_ that he would sacrifice his life and his throne for others, has transformed the blood in his veins to bile, and he has grown remarkably incapable of pity.

“The Scientia chosen to be the king’s retainer isn’t allowed to marry,” he says bluntly one day. “My uncle was the retainer before me, not my father. One of the reasons we start so young is so that we don’t have time to develop other relationships.”

Ardyn knows this, of course – his own brother was the one who made such a law, ever the pleasant individual – but he feigns surprise.

“It compromises my ability to do my job. I can’t protect the king with divided loyalty." 

There’s something in his eyes that Ardyn can’t quite read, and it at once unnerves and delights him. _I shouldn’t wish him to surprise me_. But he does. “You sound as if you were told that as a child and you’re merely reciting it. Do you actually agree with that?”

He shrugs now. “I realized I was interested in men when I was still in school. Marriage never meant much to me anyway but especially not after that.”

Ignis was probably a very strange child. Probably a bit of a bitch, too, the kind of kid who told on anyone who broke the rules and looked down on anyone who skipped out on the homework. Ardyn wonders if his overbearing personality has anything to do with Noctis’ apparently hollow skull, and which came first. “What made you realize it?”

“Who, you mean. Gladiolus.”

Unsurprising, given Ignis’ apparent preferences in men. Older, bigger, a little scruffy. He can say a lot here, but he can see the blush across the younger man’s cheekbones and doesn’t care to discuss his juvenile wet dreams. If he even had those, because he certainly never had sex or anything even close. Then again, he’s remarkably creative in texts. “Doesn’t it bother you to have so much of your life controlled by…higher powers?”

“No.” His response is genuine, forceful with all the heart behind it. His love for Noctis is unfailing, unquestionable and immortal. And then, as if he knows what the older man is thinking, “It isn’t Noctis’ fault. He has always treated me as his brother.”

Two thousand years ago, there was a word for such comradery as what Ignis feels towards his king, when the cosmos was vicious and mad, when war turned the world because it was all anyone ever knew. There’s something ancient about Ignis, something old and cunning in his blood, that drew Ardyn to him just as much as his piercing eyes and his long legs did. He runs a few fingers down the younger man’s back, feeling each vertebra beneath his shirt and wondering at what holds them together, what heart beats beneath that rib cage and what ancient being settles in his viscera. _He’s as old as I._

Ignis arches his spine, leans back and rests his head on Ardyn’s shoulder and gazes up at him. He smiles, and Ardyn forgets everything but the warm body begging his attention.

  *  ✷  .  ✦ 　 　 ✵  　   .  ˚  　 ⊹ 　　 ✵   ✺ 　 ✷   　　 　 ⊹  ✹  *  ˚ 　　　　 　 ✫



Ardyn lost his appetite for food some centuries ago, gradually deprived of all bodily pleasures but sex; he didn’t plan on living long enough for _that_ to lose its attraction. He only eats when in front of others to give some semblance of humanity. He eats with his mouth, but he devours Ignis across the table with his eyes. He’s wearing his suit jacket again today, a vest Ardyn hadn’t seen before and some hideously patterned nonsense beneath it. He’d be flattered if he knew Ignis dressed for him, but he knows by now that Ignis had probably put on a suit to change the toddler prince’s diaper.

There’s a scar along the backside of his left hand, normally hidden by his gloves. Two more scars on his arm and three on his torso, a seventh on his left leg, most from skirmishes. Not as many as Ardyn expected, but Ignis is quick on his feet and adept at healing. He’d been concerned, alarmed, at the scars over Ardyn’s body, the vicious tear in his side that had never healed properly, the dozens of small scrapes and stabs he’d accumulated during his youth and execution, when his body was still human and could be so maimed. Concerned and alarmed, but never suspicious, because Ardyn had disguised the jagged starbursts in the palms of his hands and through the tops of his feet the same way he hid the scourge. Nobody has been crucified in over a thousand years.

Ignis Scientia has three pale beauty marks on his face and fourteen more across his body. Ardyn has tasted every one, just as he has the pale pink birthmark on his right calf, and he finds himself thinking of this and only this while he pushes the food around on his plate.

“I apologize for the hostility today,” Ignis says suddenly, folding his napkin neatly over his empty plate. He’d long ago admitted that he doesn’t even enjoy cooking, that he does it because he is asked to do it, and because he knows the others like what he makes. So Ardyn takes him out nearly every time they meet.

“Oh is that what you were being? I didn’t notice,” he smirks, arches one eyebrow. He’d run into the group of them yet again, had gifted Noctis yet another oracle coin. Ignis had barely been able to disguise his blush, had all but told him off.

“I fear the rest of them might catch on if I’m not my usual self. I’m always suspicious when it comes to individuals interested in Noctis.”

“I think being _that_ bitchy is far more likely to draw attention.” But he says it genially, because he finds all of it amusing. Seeing Ignis unhinged in any way, shape or form, is what entertains him the most these days. He’s just so _charming_.

And then Ignis smiles in return. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He does. He always does.

-

“I was gone the whole night!?” His voice rises to a pitch unheard of even in bed.

“Well it is morning, we’re in bed, and we were rather busy last night. I think that’s a reasonable conclusion to make.” Rather busy, indeed. Because every time they couple, they do so at least twice, usually three times, at Ignis’ demand. Ardyn may be immortal, but his body has proven remarkably ill-prepared to cope with the sexual appetites of a repressed and frustrated twenty-two-year old.

“I’ve never been gone all night,” he’s out of the bed like a shot, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand and tripping forward to find his clothing, laid out carefully on the back of the hotel’s chair. “I shouldn’t leave Noctis for that long.”

“So they’ll know you spent the night with someone. Who cares? I’m sure they can all forage up some breakfast. Humans have managed to do that for centuries.” He stretches lazily and admires the view of Ignis’ backside, his pale skin easily bruised.

“Only Gladio disappears for a night,” he hisses, stumbling into his pants and hiking them up as quickly as possible, as if he knows the temptation of his ass. “And even he rarely does it. They probably think I'm dead. They don't know...don't know I...do this sort of thing." He only then pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at it.

The blush is immediate and furious, rising even to his ears.

“Oh dear,” Ardyn sings from between the sheets. "Maybe they do know."

“I forgot… we keep the GPS active on all our phones. We can find each other… They narrowed my location to a hotel and put it together. Prompto’s questioning is a bit much.”

He isn’t sure he likes that, isn’t sure if it might be a problem later. Perhaps not though. If kidnapping someone is what he must do to draw Noctis out of his shell, he might as well make it easy for the little idiot. “So at least you didn’t worry them. Did they make the connection between the hunter training you and your little nocturnal escapade?”

Ignis bites his lower lip, still swollen from the night before, and scans the messages. “Gladio did.”

“Ahh the Amiticia.” He yawns as he sits up in bed. He doesn’t have to say anything more, because they are both thinking it. The one Ignis is more than a little attracted to, the unrepentant alpha male who now suspects that Ignis is liaising with another man. The one he now knows Ignis had tried to come on to when fifteen and in high school, to no avail, and had clearly never quite gotten over. Ardyn suspects Gladiolus would ravage him in a heartbeat if he attempted flirtation again, and he’s considered pushing the idea if only for the amusement that might follow.

It takes him a moment to realize Ignis has turned fully towards him, that he’s stepping forward and reaching for him. Fingers gently stroking his jaw before he cups his face and leans in to kiss him.

_He’s worried I’m jealous_ , he realizes abruptly. Such a human reaction, such a normal one, but there is something in that quiet affection, that gentle concern for his emotional well-being, that unnerves Ardyn. Sometimes it irritates him, the apparent depth of Ignis’ care. _He was bred to be this way, a loyal dog, stupid and adoring. He behaves as a mother to everyone he meets, I’m sure_.

He should appreciate it while he has it, render its destruction all the more beautiful. Ardyn splays his hands across the younger man’s chest, runs them down the planes of his stomach and looks him right in the eyes until he breaks and folds into his lap.

  *  ✷  .  ✦ 　 　 ✵  　   .  ˚  　 ⊹ 　　 ✵   ✺ 　 ✷   　　 　 ⊹  ✹  *  ˚ 　　　　 　 ✫



He eyes the daggers on the table longingly, an exquisitely ornate pair that Ardyn had bought and casually left on the table in their hotel suite. They both know that Ignis won’t accept them, but that only makes his anguish over their existence more delightful. At least, until he opens his pretty little mouth. “You know your history, yes?”

“More or less, why?” He feels a sudden dread building inside of him and wonders if he should pick up a knife and slit his throat right now, before anything else climbs from it.

Ignis isn’t looking at him. He’s lining the two daggers up over and over, long fingers caressing the blades. “I once read something as a child that I think about often. It bothers me quite a bit, but I haven’t been able to verify the information. It’s something I can’t easily speak to anyone about, lest Noctis finds out.”

“And what concerning material did you read?”

 “That the first king was not really the first king.”

Ardyn has not felt the air so thick in centuries as he drags in a breath and exhales slowly. He whispers the next words, tightlipped as he tries to speak lightly, “Where did you read that?”

“I spent a lot of time in the castle libraries growing up. There’s a special room filled with the country’s lore. It was always quietest there, and I could have some peace now and then. It was only mentioned in one book, but…”

He had thought his name had been wiped from history. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his lap, steeples his fingers before his face. “I imagine they have every myth imaginable housed on those shelves. Did it say who the first king truly was?”

“Just one word, and I don’t even know if it’s a name or a title. I’ve never heard the word before,” he finally looks at him now, eyes narrow with concentration. “ _Izunia_.”

Ardyn had never told him his full name; Ignis had, rather alarmingly, been satisfied with simply _Ardyn_ , just as he’d been satisfied with never asking his age or anything about his family. _Ardyn, the fervent, the burning, he who is afire,_ Ignis had whispered to him again and again that first night, devouring him with his own heat. Looking back, Ardyn is surprised that Ignis had ever believed him, that he wasn’t suspicious of how perfectly their names aligned. Or maybe he’d never believed him, and that was why he’d never bothered to ask his surname. His unease continues to build. There’s something knowing in Ignis’ gaze, a suspicion slowly unfurling in his skull.

Ignis presses on. “You’ve heard of this, haven’t you?”

He sighs now, runs his hand through his hair and thinks furiously. He’s had a long time to learn how to lie quickly. “Yes, I have. I had hoped that such books had since been locked away, though. I think it cruel for any in the Lucis Caelum line to be exposed to such clear lies; I imagine the burden of being of royal blood is enough to endure without doubting one’s right to the throne. Especially now…”

“Why are you so sure it’s a lie? The book was rather convincing. There were two brothers. The elder was a sage, a healer, who saved humanity from some plague or another. Then the Crystal chose his the younger one because it deemed him… _unclean_. Somnus in turn gained the trust of the Astrals and subsequently had his brother executed to ensure he would never try to regain his place.”

“That’s oddly detailed.” He feels as if he’s broken out into a cold sweat, though his body would never let such a thing happen any longer. Not only his name, but his history. _The book said I was the true king_.

“It also said he survived.”

“Then how can it not be a myth?” He waves his hand lazily, as if losing interest, but it’s too early in the plan to have this conversation and he is woefully unprepared for the knowledge that someone wrote of him _. Someone remembered him. Someone saw not he, but Somnus, as the Usurper._ “I wouldn’t worry about such a thing. Banish it from your mind.”

Ignis tilts his head over the arm of the chair and sighs loudly. “Ironic that you’d suggest that, given the name of the scribe. _Stupeo_. I thought you’d be more fun to talk to about this, thought you’d properly convince me. Something about it bothers me.”

He’s heard enough, and he stands, crosses the hotel room in two strides and gently touches Ignis’ throat. “If I can’t convince you, can I make you forget?”

There’s a thrum of satisfaction beneath his fingers as Ignis grabs his arm and pulls the devourer of worlds down over him. _I don’t want you to forget, not now or ever. I am the only thing in the world not destined for oblivion, and you shall die with my name upon your lips._

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 “You’ve already spent one night. They know you have a paramour. Why not indulge a little?” Because they do know now, though apparently none ever asked who it was. Ignis suspects Gladio had shushed the two younger men into silence about it, trying to respect what limited privacy Ignis had.

He can almost see the gears turning in Ignis’ head, weighing his options. He must know by now that something is off, that Ardyn is too seductive, too pushy, a little too controlling, all on top of being a little too interested in his friends, but he probably can’t justify backing away from him when the sex is just that good, when someone finally pays attention to him and acknowledges his skills and intelligence instead of taking them for granted. Just a dirty old man who knows quite a bit about magic. Nothing too concerning. “True enough,” he finally smiles. “Just one glass.”

Ardyn has lived two thousand years, and he has never known a man to have _just one glass_. Ignis might be a rarity, but he can only act his age in such matters.

He can’t resist. He doesn’t even try to, and when Ignis isn’t looking, he drops a pinch of powdered suscitare leaf into his drink. A mild aphrodisiac known for its memory loss properties. He wants to see him even more disheveled, more desperate and messy, unhinged. That gap between his propriety and his sluttishness is intoxicating, and Ardyn wants to drive it to its limits.

And Ignis sheds his clothes in due order, all but his shirt, and grins lasciviously at Ardyn as he touches himself, driven on by the promises whispered in his ear. Ardyn is again reminded of how _easy_ he is, and he wonders if he would do this for just anyone with the right cocktail. It isn’t long before he has fallen to his knees before him, kneading his thighs and positively purring as he leans into his touch. He doesn’t often give this sort of attention to Ardyn; it puts him at an advantage while the older man writhes beneath his tongue, but the drug has tipped the balance now. Ardyn encourages it, unzips his fly and beckons him forward, and Ignis complies.

He waits a few moments before he leans over him and fingers him roughly, two fingers at once with no lubricant.

Ignis gives off a strangled yelp, unable to do anything more with Ardyn’s cock so far down his throat, and he tries to pull back. But the Accursed holds the back of his head, forces him forward. “Shh, shh, shh,” he murmurs lovingly, stroking Ignis’ hair, his face, and Ignis acquiesces almost immediately, only lets out another sob when a third finger is pushed in and his prostate none too gently jabbed. Too drugged, too startled, or too complacent, it hardly matters.

He shoves him to the ground when it’s over, after he’s come and forced Ignis to swallow it down, and doesn’t even give him time to breath before grabbing his ankles, jerking his legs wide and going down on him. He likes the way Ignis tastes, likes the fear in his sweat and the need in his eyes. He takes him afterwards, fast and hard and relentless. Ignis cries. He whimpers. But he also clings to him and moans his name as if he were a god.

“So dutiful and attentive, such a good little retainer. I’ll make you mine yet, when the world comes to ruin and your beloved king has left this realm. There won’t even be a grave for you to stand sentry over like a dog” Ardyn whispers, thrusting none too gently into him, knowing Ignis will have forgotten everything within an hour. “At your age, you can never learn how to live your own life. Poor, tragic little Ignis Scientia, born into a role that even his cleverness can’t help him deviate from. So is the story of Lucis, the land of my throne and mine alone. I will be all you can turn to and I shall despise, ravage, abominate, _consume you as the stars die._ ”

He thought he would enjoy this, the younger man’s blood on his cock and his gasps of pain in his ears, but the words are bitter on his tongue and he suddenly wants it to end.

Everything to end.

-

If he hadn’t wanted the sex, he’d forgotten about it quickly enough even, one of the many benefits of consuming alcohol and suscitare together. The drug must certainly have worn off by now, and Ignis is remarkably unphased by what has transpired so recently. He’s entered the chatty phase of drunkenness now, a reversal of the usual man who at first talks to anyone who will listen until the words slip away from him and he lies still in slovenly silence. No. Ignis goes from unapologetic whore to a friendly chatterbox.

They talk at length of magic, of obscure tales of mythology and forgotten epics that Ignis reads in his spare time and so adores – though they never speak again of _that_ one – and Ardyn watches him stretch his long naked legs out over the arm of the chair and marvels at his own luck. Because Ignis is not only pretty and easy to manipulate, but he’s fun. Ardyn Izunia has lived two thousand years, and he thinks he might have finally met his equal. Pity he is a Scientia, not a Lucis Caelum.

He wonders what it would be like to be dangling on the precipice of fate with this man standing over him. He wonders what it would be like to either be damned to hell or saved for eternity on the whims of not Noctis Lucis Caelum, but Ignis Scientia.

And he _burns_ with want.

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Tight-lipped and pale with rage is Ignis Scientia, standing before him on the bridge now. His damaged pride might as well be visible; it’s in the way he pushes his lower jaw forward as he grits his teeth, the way his knees are locked and rigid. He was never one for arrogance, but he is one for confidence, for making _intelligent_ decisions. Normally. “You didn’t see fit to tell me who you really were, _Ardyn Izunia_?”

As if he truly knows. At best, he believes in only a descendant, a hundred generations between the man before him and the man he'd asked about so long ago.

“I must say, you have some verve to face your most grievous mistake.” Words he could only say after so many nights between those pale thighs; Ignis knows how sharp his tongue can be by now.

Ignis lunges then, not to hit but to tangle his fingers in his hair and yank him down, to crash his mouth roughly against Ardyn's. He can all but _taste_ his anger, his rage at the betrayal, and when Ignis bites, he bites back and laughs into his mouth. Such a short time together and he'd already grown this much.

"You are full of surprises, aren't you," he finally gasps when he pulls away.

Ignis is glowering at him, not even making an effort to wipe the saliva on his face. Ardyn absently remembers when other bodily fluids were on his face and can't resist grinning. They have had their fun. He waits for him to avert his gaze, but he doesn't, his eyes bright and furious. Not even when Ardyn runs his thumb slowly over the younger man's lower lip, slick and kiss-bruised. Not even when he opens his mouth just enough for Ardyn to slip inside. Not even when he bites down none too gently and flicks his tongue against him. Even now, it sends a thrill through the older man, knowing how much of a slut Ignis had turned out to be in such a short time together.

"They're all so distracted by the view. Are you sure you don't want a quick one?" He grinds his hips slowly, grinning when Ignis bucks up into him. A moan breaks from his lips as Ardyn pushes back, rubbing his hardness against him. "I'm sorry for the deception but I'll make this up to you."

And Ignis, charming elusive Ignis Scientia, surprises him again, because he suddenly throws his weight onto one leg, into one hip, and turns on Ardyn with ease, slamming his back to the wall and leaning against him, breathing heavily now.

"Don't. Tempt. Me." And then he's backing off, running a hand through his hair and hissing in exasperation. "I need to think about this. I can't believe I was so stupid."

He all but leers, because Ignis angry is Ignis beautiful. The thought of shattering his tenuous grasp on control is intoxicating. Ardyn subsists on the disease of rage. "But you can still be tempted?"

He's silent for a moment before he sighs out a soft _yes_.

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He can still be tempted, and he makes his next mistake when he asks Ardyn two days later if they can meet. Not to reprimand him, but to fuck. _We are not going to talk anymore. Business only_. Charming. Ardyn curls his tongue in satisfaction as he responds. Ignis Scientia, child of scorn.

Ignis is angry, demanding and haughty, but he is also insatiable, more hungry than ever before.

It’s the first time they’ve ever fucked fully clothed, and Ignis is relentless as he rides him, clawing his way up the back of Ardyn’s shirt and scratching his skin raw, blissfully unaware of the Starscourge burrowing under his fingernails. He bites, pulls the older man’s hair and bruises his belly with his pubic bone, the forcefulness of his thrusts leaving Ardyn nearly helpless beneath him. But he lets it happen, because he finds that he _likes it_. He wonders what it would be like to let Ignis fuck him, wonders if he would if he suggested it, or if Ignis’ reserved nature would shine through in that moment and he’d refuse. He thinks of this as he thrusts up to meet Ignis’ erratic, harried movements, twists his fingers in his hair and pulls him down to his shoulder, lets him arch his spine in anger at being held still, and slips a hand between them. Ignis is already dripping without having been touched, his body already growing attuned to being pounded into, and Ardyn smears the precome around his shaft, thumbs his slit, and tells him to come for him. He obeys with a muffled cry and a shudder so violent it might be a sob.

-

He rolls into the passenger seat with a groan as he rearranges his pants, stuffs himself back into his boxer briefs. But he doesn’t button his shirt back up, nor does he zip his fly.

“Drive somewhere more secluded,” he huffs, running a hand through his sweaty hair and staring straight ahead. His face is tear-streaked, either because the orgasm was so powerful or something more. “I want to make more noise without worrying about being heard.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” he grins as he starts up the car. “Nice to have a chauffeur for once, isn’t it?”

“Don’t,” he says it calmly enough, but the menace is clear.

_Oh that Ignis Scientia._ “You can do me this time, if you like?”

“I don’t know if I _like_.”

“Suit yourself.”

But he does _like_.

-

He’s unkempt and unskilled, but his enthusiasm and his scarcely concealed rage more than make up for it.

Ardyn laughs and goads him on, reveling in the unexpected roughness. Ignis has a surprising amount of strength in that slim form, driven by the intensity of his emotions, so suppressed 23 hours of the day. And he is _so intense_. His rage and his hurt are divine. He only has to correct him twice, reposition him with a buck of his hips and a hand on the younger man’s ass, before he finds the spark inside of him that makes his spine arch and his shoulder blades touch. Ardyn hasn’t felt this in centuries. _I should have suggested this earlier_.

He is taken aback at how quickly, how exquisitely, he climaxes, but he is not taken aback by the fingers suddenly around his throat and the brightness of Ignis’ eyes. _Tears_.

“I wanted to trust you,” he whispers. And then he slaps him so viciously he’d have whiplash were he not already flat on his back.

Now this, _this_ surprises him. It catches him so off guard that he doesn’t have time to disguise himself. There’s blood in his mouth that he swallows. The car might be dark and Ignis might be distracted, but he doesn’t need to notice the black in his blood, the Starscourge visible in moments of weakness. Ardyn doesn’t like weakness. “Are you satisfied?” he snarls.

“Not quite,” Ignis bares his teeth in return.

-

He runs a finger through the mess on his chest and sighs. They are filthier than ever from all the layers of clothing, the stifling heat of the car. “Let’s find a hotel. I can’t be seen like this without bathing. Better one with a dryer so I can handwash this and make it presentable in an hour.”

Ardyn frowns and drums his fingers on the wheel. There’s nothing but a two-bit hotel nearby. Then again, they just fucked twice in the car. Ignis will hardly expect the usual pomp and circumstance. He better not, not after his little episode. “If we’re together for more than three more minutes, I’m going to have revenge for that slap.”

“I’d lose what little respect I have left for you if you didn’t.” _Oh Ignis Scientia._ Scorn becomes him.

The third time, he hauls Ignis out of the tub and drills him into the mattress soaking wet, finally _finally_ makes him scream, makes him beg for mercy until Ardyn is quite satisfied. It’s quite possibly the best sex Ardyn remembers ever having, because Ignis’ emotion is unparalleled in anyone but the Accursed, and it shines in his tears, his whimpers and his supplications. Ignis doesn’t know what his partner thinks of, doesn’t know that this is revenge, doesn’t know that if he’d tried to fight the older man off, he’d have simply raped him into submission and then broken his pretty little nose for good measure. It’s not particularly consensual as it is, but it can always be _worse_. Ardyn has had a long time to grow creative.

He showers again when it’s over, is out and into his clothing so quickly that Ardyn is still in bed.

But whatever happened between them only a few hours ago is apparently not remembered the way Ardyn remembers it. He pauses at the door, glances back and lets out a haughty _thank you_ before he slips through the threshold and is gone, leaving Ardyn to roll over in the bed, smirk and bury his face in the pillow, inhaling the younger man’s scent and groaning in satisfaction.

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Whatever the boys talk about in the car during the day, whatever they do in the tent they so often impose on themselves during the ever-lengthening nights, it isn’t enough to sate Ignis’ desperate loneliness, and he makes another mistake in a long line of flaws of judgment. He still goes back to him. Again and again, the pretense of sex hanging over them but failing to encompass all they do. He’s still angry, haughty and frustrated, but for every favor Ardyn does for the four of them, Ignis’ fury loses a little more of its momentum. Ardyn can see the gears turning in his head, struggling to work out why the older man would ever help them, given his position in the empire. He probably suspects treason, probably wonders if he should pursue a relationship with a traitor, even a traitor to a nation he despises. But still he comes to him.

And every time he comes to him, every lurid text he sends him at odd hours of the day, Ardyn finds himself relieved. Ignis’ little display in the car had only endeared him to him further, and even were it not for his position as the king’s retainer, the sex is good and the conversation is, at least at times, satisfying. Ardyn pretends to try to make up for it. He drives him around, showing him the hidden jewels of the Lucian landscape that he has had centuries to find. He hunts demons with him, shows him the secrets of destroying those that had personally irritated him over the years. He gains invitation to back-alley alchemy shops and buys him small gifts. He draws rare monsters to him that Ignis has expressed interest in seeing, in particularly the elusive Elder Coeurl, which makes the younger man shiver in excitement.

And Ardyn tells him of sagefire, shows it to him until it spins out of the younger man’s hands and he masters a new elemental technique within a matter of hours. Ardyn lavishes praise on him, and Ignis is the first recipient of his genuine praise since Gilgamesh roamed the earth. _All to protect your dear Noctis_. “The king will appreciate this, I’m sure.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten who you are,” he snaps in response, clinical and cold, yet purposefully avoiding his gaze. He’d been like this, off and on, but the wound is always clear in his eyes if not his voice.

“I don’t expect you to.” Because no one ever forgets who he is, least of all Ardyn himself. _And oh, there is so much more to learn._ “Are you ready to celebrate this achievement?”

Ignis is. He always is.

-

He asks it that night. Nearly six weeks since they met before he finally asks, after another messy and lengthy copulation in a dingy motel. “Why do you help us?”

A shrug. “Why did I ever approach you? Why do I let you do what you want in bed? Why do I teach you things? You’re _interesting_ , Ignis Scientia. I _like_ interesting.”

“You’re cruel,” he mumbles into his shoulder, breath hot and wet against his skin.

It’s only after Ignis leaves with a forlorn glance over his shoulder that he reflects on the statement, and he wonders if Ignis does more than _like_ him.

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Only the night before Lunafreya is to give the speech in Altissia, a night before Ardyn intends to truly begin the revealing, to show the Starscourge coursing beneath his skin and grind the gears of destiny one step closer to a full circle, he draws Ignis to him in the most expensive hotel in the three kingdoms – or are they one now? – and gives him everything.

It will make the betrayal more complete, more sublime, and he wants Ignis Scientia to suffer. Because Ardyn has not felt regret in two thousand years, and he does not care for it. The seduction can only be worth it if it breaks the king’s retainer, if he can take him away and force the king’s hand by shredding Ignis with his bare hands, squeezing his heart until it explodes and wiping the blood over Noctis’ face. _I am unforgiveable. I am unlovable. Sacrifice everything to destroy me._

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“What do you say?"

He waits. He waits and he stares down the violence in Ignis’ eyes, knowing how he will respond. Because he has spent a lot of time between those slim white thighs, sucking and fucking Ignis Scientia until Ardyn’s name gained divinity on his tongue. A thousand-year affair concentrated in two violent, sublime months leaving the king’s retainer hopelessly under his thrall.

He knows this and he revels in it.

But Ignis Scientia denies him.

-

The power of the kings courses through his veins, burning through his skin and making him bright with ghostfire. _He looks as I did, when the scourge consumed me_. Many a human outside the Lucis Caelum line had attempted to wear the ring before him; Ardyn had witnessed forty-nine of them himself over the centuries. Not a one had ever harnessed its power without exchanging his life, and most had never even gotten that far. But this is different. Ardyn knows well the power of the kings, and he knows this is not fatal.

They have deemed him worthy, Ignis Scientia, burning with ardor.

Ardyn scarcely touches him, not because he can’t – though it’s nearly all he can do keep up with him – but because he doesn’t want to. He watches and he ruminates and he finds himself in awe at the loyalty laid bare before him. He isn’t exchanging Ardyn for Noctis. This isn’t a question of choosing who he must be loyal to, no. Ardyn knows he was never in the equation; it’s a question of choosing between Noctis and himself. Ignis Scientia, ready to sacrifice his body and soul, his mind and his _heart_ , because Ardyn knows now how close he has come to that, for his king.

He is awed and he is enraged. Because for all of his carefully laid plans, Ignis has surprised him. He is the thorn in his side, his onus, his punishment for daring to believe he knows the heart of man when he himself is but a disease, the scourge of the stars and a curse across the land. He is the end of the world made manifest and he foolishly forgot what even the Astrals learned the hard way. Man can never truly be known. That’s what makes him do it.

Briefly, so briefly, he allows his true form to show. Ignis can not see him. Ignis will never see again, but he can feel him, and that is enough, because the Scientia falters for a moment, eyes once such a piercing green widening as if his body has not yet adjusted to the darkness. No one can ever be truly blind to the Starscourge unveiled, and now Ignis truly understands the depths of his betrayal.

It will makes things easier, at the end of all things, because all Ardyn desires now is silence. The betrayal is not one-sided. None of this has been one-sided. He wants to be despised, wants to be unforgivable, but most of all, he wants Ignis to lose all hope. He wants Ignis to understand who, what, he is up against, and tremble in fear. He _deserves_ this, because _the betrayal is not one-sided._

But he knows now, that Ignis can never know true despair. Ignis is a mere breath below the divine, a man of low blood graced with the power of the ancients and forgiven his transgressions, all because his love for his king is so complete that it never crossed his mind not to hope that he could single-handedly bring down the Accursed.

He knows this because he has brushed the surface of his love, and he has caught a glimpse of its depths.

-

The fight is short, the fury of one hundred and thirteen kings too much for Ignis’ mortal body to bear for long, and when Ardyn begins to see the violent trembling in his limbs, the fire coursing through his veins diminishing to a dull throbbing glow, he backs away. He could kill him now, but he won’t. Can’t.

Instead he bids him farewell, watches him slowly collapse to the ground, and stills time with a flick of his wrist. Now the world is but two.

He crouches down to study Ignis Scientia. He’d wanted to ravage him, to violently rape him as he lay besides his unconscious, beloved king. The visceral fantasy he’d been harvesting ever since he first laid eyes on him. It’s no longer appealing. He touches his throat, ignores the sharp burn he feels when the lingering light of the Lucii comes into contact with his skin, feels for a pulse and is satisfied when he finds one, when he hears the faint exhale coming forth every so often. _Ignis_. Of the fire and Ardyn, he who burns. They could have had the world. “Oh, Ignis, Ignis. What have you done…”

His eyesight is beyond recovery; the Lucian Rulers of Old take what they want. They take and they take and they never return. Ardyn Izunia knows this better than most. No. Ignis shall live forever in darkness now, never able to fully witness his world falling under the eidolon of ruin. Perhaps there is a blessing beneath that cruelty. Ardyn wouldn’t know. He’s never seen one.

He’s also never been at a loss for words, but he is now. He’s spoken a thousand promises and praises in Ignis’ ear over the last two months, spoken them so freely that he never weighed them against his heart and wondered at their verity. He’d been too driven forward by vengeance, by lust and loathing, to do that. There is a lot he can say now, a lot he may or may not have said in the past without considering their meaning, a lot he doesn’t _wish_ he had said, but perhaps would have not regretted.

But he only sighs, “You always were a rash one, weren’t you?”

He strokes his face gently, fingers over his lips, his damaged eyelids, the cuts all over and the vicious burn over his left eye, so fitting in its shape. Ignis is deep in the slumber of the ancients now, unlikely to wake for several days, in stasis while his body slowly adapts to the gift of the gods and regains control over itself. He’s still beautiful, and in time the wounds will heal and the scars will only make him more attractive in the way only a map of sorrow can. The wounds will heal, all but one. It’s been a long time since Ardyn has been a healer.

The memory of the stars is eternal, but the memory of man is fragile. The one who has been made anathema, erased from the lips and the memory of mankind, knows this best.

“Ignis Scientia, child of sorrow,” he croons softly, cradling his head now. “Makes rash decisions and,” he kisses his forehead for the last time. “Forgets on the morrow.”

And he releases him.

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End file.
